


V-Dazzled

by DiscontentedWinter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Don't Try This At Home, F/M, M/M, vaginal glitterbombs, yes that's a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-15 22:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18678595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiscontentedWinter/pseuds/DiscontentedWinter
Summary: Scott's girlfriend has a surprise for him--a glittery, sugary surprise!It does not end well.





	V-Dazzled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Twisted_Mind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/gifts), [Bunnywest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/gifts).



> Yes,[vagina glitter capsules](https://www.prettywomaninc.com/q-a) are a thing. No, I don't know why.

“Oh, dear god,” Peter Hale says mildly as he picks up the plush purple unicorn with a glittery horn and inspects it. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s not mine,” Stiles grouses.

“Ah,” says Peter, and drops the unicorn again. “It’s _hers_ , then? Be honest, sweetheart, do you want me to kill her for you? I can make it look like an accident.”

“An accident with a combine harvester?”

“I think I’m a little more subtle than that.” Peter actually looks offended. “This is killing you, isn’t it?”

Stiles looks around the cramped little space that has the audacity to call itself a living room. Where the hell did that tube of pink lip gloss come from? And the notebook with Tinkerbell on it? And the sparkly blue crop top slung over the top of the couch? Why does Stiles’s living room look like it belongs to a Disney Princess?

He catches Peter’s look, and says, “No, this is fine.”

Except maybe there’s an invisible question mark on the end of that statement, and maybe Peter arches a brow at him like he knows he’s talking utter bullshit.

“This is fine,” Stiles repeats again, more firmly this time.

Look, Stiles really shouldn’t judge Scott’s choices in romantic partners. Stiles has a snobbish asshole of a sugar daddy who is also a werewolf with a body count attached to his name. Said sugar daddy werewolf was also once insane and tried to bite Scott and turn him into a werewolf—but he’s much healthier now. There’s a lot to unpack there, and Scott is decent enough to not unpack it every time Stiles says Peter’s name, so Stiles really, really shouldn’t judge when it comes to Scott’s choices.

Except he also can’t help himself.

Because Scott is dating a girl who calls herself Pixie Sparkles, and no, she’s not seven years old, or a drag queen. She’s an eighteen-year-old college freshman who is obsessed with fairies.

Sidenote: Stiles has _met_ fairies and the only time they sparkle is when they grin and show off their glittering fangs right before going for the jugular. Literally. Stiles has a very healthy amount of respect and fear for the fae. Pixie Sparkles would shit herself if she ever met the real deal.

Scott, for some reason, thinks Pixie is adorable and quirky. Of all the rebound relationships he could have fallen into after he and Allison broke up, why does it have to be _her_? 

Stiles was super excited to share a college dorm with Scott, but that was before Pixie invaded his life. His only consolation is that Peter paid for them to get a fancy dorm with two actual bedrooms, so Stiles doesn’t have to see what’s going on with Scott and Pixie. The downside is the walls are paper thin, so Stiles spends most of his time in his room trying not to hear the way Pixie fucking _giggles_ when she and Scott are “studying”.

He really needs to ask Peter to buy him some new noise-cancelling headphones. Urgently. And they need to be about a thousand percent better than the ones he has now.

There’s only so much time a guy can spend sexiled to the library, after all. And Stiles _likes_ the library.

“I hate her,” he says now, wilting under Peter’s knowing stare. “Oh god, I hate her with the fire of a thousand burning suns, Peter!”

“I know, sweetheart,” Peter says, pulling Stiles into a hug. “I know.”

If someone had told Stiles three years ago that the Crazy Werewolf in the Woods would turn out to be secretly sweet and comforting, Stiles would have laughed in their face. Really, he has no idea how they got to this point.

It all started the night Stiles dragged Scott out into the Preserve to see a dead body. The girl was cut in half—total hunter move. The big supernatural reveal had only happened a few years before that, but Stiles was rolling with it, and bursting to learn all he could about this hithertofore undiscovered world. Werewolves and hunters in _his_ Preserve? It’s more likely than you think!

So off he and Scott had gone on a completely ill-advised mission into the Preserve in the middle of the night, and boom—Crazy Werewolf in the Woods. And holy crap, it was coming right at them! It lunged at Scott first, which gave Stiles just enough time to spray it in the face with his can of wolfsbane-infused mace, which had given Stiles and Scott the chance to get away.

The way Peter told the story, he’d been very confused to come out of his coma when the sudden rush of the alpha power hit him, and even more confused to find out that he’d missed the entire supernatural reveal and now even scrawny high schoolers were carrying wolfsbane. How the fuck was that fair?

But it turned out that blast of wolfsbane to the face had jolted Peter back into a semblance of sanity, or something. Instead of rampaging through the woods trying to bite teenagers, he’d slunk back to the ruins of the Hale house and then proceeded, over the next few weeks, to very carefully and methodically dispatch the people who’d murdered his pack. He’d killed them quietly and sneakily, like a civilised person should.

Scott had been predictably horrified when Peter had turned up on Stiles’s doorstep one afternoon with a bunch of flowers.

“Hello, Stiles,” Peter had purred, and for some reason Stiles hadn’t slammed the door in his face. “These are for you, to apologise for my—”

“Murder spree?” Stiles asked.

Peter hummed. “No. I’m not sorry for that at all. These are to apologise for attempting to attack you in the Preserve that night.”

“Huh,” said Stiles, taking the flowers. “Well, apology accepted.”

“Wait, why aren’t you apologising to me?” Scott asked. “I’m the one you tried to bite. Where are my flowers?” And then, after Peter had just smirked and walked away, Scott said, “What an _asshole_!”

Like that was a bad thing.

Okay, so objectively that was a bad thing, but also it was incredibly fucking hot.

Peter had courted Stiles in his creepy asshole way from that day on, and now here they are. Peter still brings Stiles expensive gifts all the time, and also his dick. Stiles is very much a fan of his dick.

Stiles sighs and looks around the living room. “I should have moved in with you instead, Peter.”

Peter raises his eyebrows, and Stiles hears his unspoken ‘I told you so.’

“I mean,” Stiles says, looking at the plush purple unicorn, “it’s a little much, right?”

“It really is,” Peter says. “Now let’s go into your room, sweetheart, and I’ll see what I can do to take your mind off things.”

Stiles reaches out to take his hand, and then he hears the key turning in the lock, and suddenly the door is opening and Scott and Pixie are stepping inside. Scott is beaming like an idiot—his typical love struck expression—and Pixie is…

Pixie is wearing a tutu, pink pantyhose, and actual fairy wings.

Scott’s smile vanishes the moment he sees Peter. “Hello, Peter.”

“Scott,” Peter says smoothly.

“Um,” Stiles says to change the subject. “Did you guys go to a costume party?”

“No,” Pixie says, batting her glittery eyelashes at him. “Just to Subway. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason,” Stiles says. He can’t look at Peter right now. He’d lose it if he did.

Pixie seems oblivious to his struggle, but that’s Pixie all over.

“Anyway,” she says brightly, grabbing Scott by the hand, “I’ve got a surprise for Scott, so we'll see you guys later!”

And she drags Scott away to his room.

Stiles closes his eyes and groans.

 

***

 

“Stiles,” Peter says, and then says it again because Stiles is wearing his old noise-cancelling headphones. Peter tugs them off his head. “Stiles. I’m the one with werewolf hearing. If anyone should be wearing these, it’s me.”

Stiles sighs, and flops back down onto his narrow bed. There’s just enough room for two, if they squeeze close together. Fortunately that solution more than works for both of them.

“Please make her go away,” he says. “In a non-murdery way.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t really mean that,” Peter tells him softly, stroking a finger along Stiles’s bottom lip. “I could scare that girl into never coming within a mile of this dorm room again, but you know Scott wouldn’t like that. And while Scott is an idiot, your friendship is important to you, and I would never want to make you choose between us.”

“Ugh. If Scott’s such an idiot, why did you try to bite him that time?”

“Hello? Insane? You can’t possibly imagine I’d ever have made him my first choice if I wasn’t totally out of my mind at the time.” Peter snorts. “Please, sweetheart, credit me with some taste.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Stiles says.

“Guilty as charged,” Peter replies, preening.

Stiles rolls his eyes, but they both know he doesn’t mean it.

“So, darling,” Peter says, “how about I whisk you away to a hotel for the night? We can get somewhere with a hot tub and room service, and a lot of luxurious surfaces I can fuck you against?”

Stiles’s dick responds immediately, and he grinds against Peter’s thigh for a moment. “Would there be massage oils?”

“Certainly not,” Peter says with a wicked grin. “I don’t like the taste of them, and I want to lick you all over, sweet boy. And then I want to eat you out for hours, until you’re a crying mess.”

“Holy shit.” Stiles shivers, and then reality smacks him over the head. “I can’t. I have an early class in the morning. Raincheck?”

“Raincheck,” Peter agrees, and kisses Stiles with just enough tongue to tease him and make him really regret his work ethic. “Does Friday night work for you? We can make a weekend of it, and I can really spoil you.”

“Wreck me, you mean.”

Peter smiles, showing a hint of fang. “Same thing, sweetheart.”

“Point.” Stiles glances at the wall. “They’re canoodling in there right now, aren’t they?”

“Do you really want to know?” Peter asks.

“You’re right,” Stiles says. “Let me live in blissful ignorance until she starts screaming, at least. She sounds like a mouse, Peter, but at six hundred decibels. _Eek eek eek_! I don’t know how Scotty can put up with it.”

“To be fair,” Peter says, cocking his head, “it sounds like he’s wearing her thighs as earmuffs at the moment, so he probably can’t hear much at all.”

“Ew!” Stiles slaps him. “Gross. TMI, Peter, TMI!”

Peter’s smirk vanishes suddenly, and he cocks his head. “Oh, that can’t be good.”

“What?” Stiles asks. “What can’t be good?”

Before Peter can answer, Pixie screams. She doesn’t sound like a mouse right now. She sounds terrified.

Stiles and Peter bolt for Scott’s room.

 

***

 

Pixie screams again when Peter busts the flimsy door open, and grabs her frilly tutu to hold in front of herself.

Too late, because Stiles has already seen more of her than he wants to thanks. And Stiles is bi, and hasn’t had a lot of experience with girls, but he’s pretty sure they shouldn’t have glitter oozing out of them like that, right?

“Scott?” he calls, rushing into the room. “Scotty!”

Scott is lying on the floor of his room, naked as the day he was born, curled up in the fetal position and struggling to breathe.

His lips are blue.

Holy shit.

His lips are blue.

“Inhaler!” Stiles bellows. “Scotty, where’s your inhaler?”

Scott manages to point to his nightstand, and Stiles wrenches the drawer open and digs through a stash of condoms and lube to find Scott’s inhaler. It’s been a long time since Scott had an asthma attack, but Stiles has never forgotten how terrifying they are. And if they’re terrifying for Stiles, they must be a hundred times worse for Scott.

Peter kneels on the flood beside Scott. “Stiles? Quickly!”

Stiles tosses him Scott’s inhaler.

Peter tugs the lid off, shoves the inhaler in Scott’s mouth, and presses it down. Once, then twice, then three times, then four.

And Scott’s still choking, clawing the carpet with his fingers, his eyes rolling back in his head.

“It’s not working,” Peter says. “Why isn’t it working?”

Stiles grabs Scott’s phone off the nightstand, his fingers shaking in sudden panic. “I’m calling 911.”

“Stiles,” Peter says. “I don’t think there’s time for that.”

Pixie wails loudly.

“Oh god,” Stiles says. “Oh my god. What did you _do_?”

“Nothing!” Pixie shifts on the bed, and Stiles gets another unwelcome look at her bedazzled vulva. It looks incredibly sticky and glittery, and Stiles has never been less attracted to women right now. Pixie’s face contorts. “I used a thing! This capsule. You put it inside you and it makes everything sugary and sparkly!”

The _fuck_?

Oh god. No wonder his inhaler’s not working. His lungs are full of fucking _glitter_.

“And then Scott couldn’t _breathe_!” Pixie wails, like she’s the one having the worst night ever, and not poor Scotty.

“Stiles,” Peter says, his voice low and urgent. “Stiles, he’s not breathing.”

There’s an unasked question there, and Stiles doesn’t hesitate.

“Do it,” he says to Peter. “Bite him.”

Peter’s eyes flash and his fangs extend, and Pixie screams again.

 

***

 

“You know,” Scott says a week later as he and Stiles are playing Call of Duty, “being a werewolf is pretty cool.”

“The breathing kind of sells it for me,” Stiles says, and checks his phone. Peter is coming by any minute now to collect him for a night at a fancy hotel. He loves to spoil Stiles—and wreck him—and Stiles is totally onboard with that.

“Right?” Scott asks with a sheepish grin.

“Have you heard from Pixie?” Stiles asks.

“Not since we broke up,” Scott says. “She did text me to say that she had a UTI and a yeast infection though.”

“Why would she feel the need to share that?” Stiles asks.

Scott shrugs. “I have no idea, bro. You know, I don’t think we were really suited after all.”

Stiles bites his tongue.

“There’s a cute girl in my Bio 101 class,” Scott says. “Her name’s Kira. She’s a kitsune. We’re going out for sushi tomorrow.”

“Nice!” Stiles fist bumps him. “Hopefully she won’t shove glitter in places it’s not meant to go.”

“Hopefully,” Scott agrees.

Stiles’s phone chimes with a text message, and he flings his controller into Scott’s lap as he leaps up. “Gotta go!”

“Say hi to the alpha for me,” Scott says, and really, that’s never not going to be weird.

Stiles grabs his backpack from beside the couch. As he does, he notices something that’s been half-kicked under the couch. He bends down to pull it out.

It’s the purple sparkly plush unicorn.

Stiles makes a face at it and tosses it in the trash can by the door.

He hopes, wherever Pixie is right now, that she’s itchy as hell.


End file.
